


Going Home

by TeamFreeWill12



Series: Post I'm No Angel Trauma [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas is tired of Dean's bull shit, Gen, Sadness, angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:50:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamFreeWill12/pseuds/TeamFreeWill12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a disturbing phone call from Dean, Cas jumps on the first bus headed back to Kansas to find out just what it was he'd done to save Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Home

It seems like he's spent an incredible amount of his time as a human on a bus.

Since he had no wings, no money, to way to fly, he supposed this was the best way to get where he needed to go.

He needed to get back to Dean . He needed to find out what was wrong, needed to find out what caused Dean such distress.

Cas  knew, whatever it was, that it was bad. Dean hadn't been that drunk in a very long time. Actually, as far as he knew, Dean had _ never _  been  _ that _  intoxicated. And  any time he'd been this bad, it all had to do with Sam.

_Sam_.

He jolted upright in his seat. He hadn't been sleeping, just zoning out at the landscape flying by outside his window.  _ (Never fall asleep on a bus,  Cas . You'll get robbed, or worse.) _

Suddenly tha t drunken phone call made sense. Somewhat. Everything that Dean had ever done to keep Sam alive filled his mind. One bobbed up to the surface. The time Dean had made a crossroads deal, his life in exchange for Sam's.

It felt like history was repeating its elf.

Once he'd touched Dean's soul in Hell, once he'd put the man back together, he'd been privy to the intimate details of Dean's life, things he kept hidden. Dean, of course, didn't know just what  Cas  knew;  Castiel  never wanted the man to feel uncomfort able, and letting Dean in on that little secret would definitely fall into Uncomfortable Territory.

But he knew,  _ felt _  the pain Dean had felt when his brother died that first time, felt the loss, the emptiness, how alone he was. He was so unwilling to let g o of his brother, that one piece whose loss he would absolutely not survive, so he'd done anything he could to ensure his brother lived a long life, even if it meant cutting his own short. Selfish _and_   generous.

Castiel  felt anger and fear bubble up inside  him. What had Dean done this time? What kind of deal had he made?

He had plenty of time to think, too much time to wind himself up as the bus lumbered from one state to another.

When he finally made it to Kansas, he had another couple of hours to stew. The  bus let him off in Salina, so he found himself hitchhiking the rest of the way. By the time he made it to Lebanon, darkness had settled. The bunker was hidden on the outskirts of town, which meant he would have to walk the rest of the way, but at least he  knew how to get there.

The driver of the Oldsmobile dropped him off in front of a strip mall. After a quick “thanks” to the driver, a young man with a penchant for patchouli and “Mary Jane,” and being kind to others (which is why he picked  Cas  up),  Cas  tu rned and started walking.

He made it a couple of blocks before he was greeted with a very familiar sight.

Parked next to the curb was Dean's “Baby.” The hunter was nowhere in sight, but one cursory glance around showed him a couple of restaurants, a few  small shops, and a bar. Given the state Dean was in during their phone call, it wasn't hard to figure out where the man probably was.

Castiel's  shoulders drooped as he stood on the sidewalk next to the car. He could wait until Dean came out, but he had a  feeling he would be waiting a while, and this conversation had waited long enough.

Even so, his feet wouldn't move. He wasn't looking forward to this confrontation. He was afraid of what he was going to hear. There was nothing he could do if Dean had made some sort of deal. Nothing.

And it hurt worse than anything. Almost as bad as not being able to heal Sam.

His fingers shook as they tightened on his duffle. The hesitation he felt was so strong because he  _knew_ ,  he  _ knew _  Dean had done  _something_ ,  because _of_ _course_   he did something. He wasn't going to let his brother die.

Cas ' emotions battled for prec edence. He was torn between anger and sympathy, love always present in both.

_ Humans are so infuriating sometimes. _

He huffed out a sigh and made his feet move. Each step across the pavement made him a bit heavier. 

Once he crossed the threshold to a place dubiously called "Home Away From Home," it took him  a few moments to acclimate himself to the darkness inside.

He nodded to the bartender who barely looked up in greeting. 

"Can I get you anything?"

He shook his head silently, casting his eyes over the dim room, the smell of cheap beer and cloying perfume trying to mask the scent of desperation but not quite succeeding. 

It didn't take long to find the man he was looking for. The dejected posture, the lost look on his face, the many empty glasses in front of him made  Castiel  want to weep.

_ Where are you, Dean Winchester? Where is the Righteous Man whose soul I cradled in my hands, whose body I rebuilt from  nothing,  the man who refused to be defeated so many times, where are you? _

He wanted to yell, wanted to scream, wanted to rail at the man he saw before him, but  Cas  knew he couldn't say or do anything that Dean hadn't already said or done to himself. And the rationalization, of course:  _ I would do anything for my brother.  _

Dean's ends-justify-the-means mentality, well, it was getting old. But the same could be said,  _had_   been said about  Cas ' need to always "fix" everything, and  _he_   hadn't quite stopped trying yet, so he couldn't fault Dean for not wanting to let Sam go, regardless of Sam's feelings on the matter.

As he stood and stared at the broken man in front of him,  Castiel  wondered if he had the strength, the ability, to fix him again. He was like Dean Winchester in that regard, Sam Winchester, too, when push came to shove. He would never stop trying to save Dean. As he'd been trying to get Dean to realize, all this time, he was worth saving.

It was that thought that was the catalyst, that got his feet moving those few feet, those last steps that would bring him home. 

He stopped next to the table where the man sat staring blindly at nothing,  Castiel's  arms aching to hold the man, to somehow make things better. But he could only do one thing.

"Hello, Dean."


End file.
